Who's The Femme Now?
by pseudonymical
Summary: Of Eric's shampoo and office supplies used as projectile weapons.  Hee.


SUPER SPECIAL AWESOME EDIT: The fantastic NewKanaid has translated this into Spanish for me. If you'd prefer to read it in Spanish, here: .net/s/7429793/1/Quien_es_la_nena_ahora  
>Oh, the excitement I feel. XD<p>

AN: Dammit, over a thousand words again. Whatever-It was fun to write, although rather pointless... Actually, a note: I recently read a fic where Ron, in the morning, asks Alan to "turn off the sun". I DID NOT STEAL THAT LINE, I DID WRITE IT. SOMEONE ELSE JUST WROTE IT FIRST. Meh. (And pft, AlanRon shipper. I do not approve. XD)

Also, it's very rare for me to upload on weekends, but I've done it both yesterday and today. Just don't expect this regularly. I'm fairly inactive on weekends, both with doodles and here.  
>And yes, Eva and Kayla, I'm still going to do a doodle for Eric's shampoo. I just cannot bring myself to believe that you could GET hair that freaking amazing without some seriously amazing(french women's) products. *heart*<br>Read and review.  
>Words cannot express how much Eric hates me.<br>EDIT: I KNOW "femme" is typically used in the context of the 'butch and femme' in lesbian relationships. I don't care-it MEANS the more feminine person in the relationship, which is how I've used it.

**~ERIC~**

Eric's eyes opened slowly to the sight of bright sunlight streaming in from the window. Closing the blinds had been much less of a priority the night before when there wasn't this hellish light. Many things, he reflected, seemed less important when Alan's arms were around you and his lips were brushing against your neck.

The object of his musings stirred sleepily in the circle of his arms. Eric froze. Maybe if he was perfectly still, Alan would stay asleep just a little longer. Much though he would love to wake Alan up, preferably with a kiss, he knew Alan needed his sleep. Not, he grinned to himself, that he'd allowed the younger man to get any of that last night.

"Eric... turn off the sun." Alan grumbled, moving closer. His lover laughed and tousled his hair.

"I could just close the blinds."

"That would involve your getting up and moving away."

"And turning off the sun wouldn't?"

"You'll figure out a way to make it work." Alan buried his face in Eric's neck. "So go. Start figuring."

"Sweetheart, you're the brains of this operation."

"You _do_ have such wonderful muscles." A small hand made its way to Eric's bicep.

"Why, thank you. Now it's time to get up."

"Do we have to?"

"No." Eric would be perfectly happy to stay in bed all day, but...

"Yes, we do. Let's go." ...he'd known Alan would say that. His partner sat up, throwing off Eric's arm and the sheets. "I call first shower."

"Oh, come on, it's _my_ flat." Alan threw him a look. "Never mind, I see that I'm in the wrong here, you take the shower. It's my gift to you."

"Lovely. Thank you." Alan strode off towards the bathroom.

"I'll just make coffee, then." Eric ran a hand through his hair. _You're so whipped, Slingby_. He thought, climbing out of bed and pulling on the nearest pair of pajama pants. Thankfully, not one of Alan's-he'd tried that once, by mistake. It hadn't turned out too well. He wandered out into the kitchen, where he sighed at a pile of dishes in the sink. That was pretty normal at Eric's house, because he hated to wash dishes.

He started the coffeemaker and slumped into a chair. Work was too frickin' early, and Will was such a taskmaster. Soon they would rejoin a world of scratching pens, paperwork, and a bunch of Will-clones. There was only one time, ever, that Eric would admit being grateful for Grell, and this was it. At least _he_ broke the monotony. It was rarely boring in the office with that one around.

_Toast. I'll make toast_. Toast was easy and required no thought. Eric was an early riser, but he wasn't truly _awake_ until at least ten. As Alan could tell you after an embarrassing incident involving raw meat and a wayward death scythe, just because Eric was walking around with his eyes open did not mean he was in any way cognizant. Eric popped a couple slices of bread into the toaster, then returned to his seat.

"Eric, why is your shampoo for French women?" Alan asked, walking into the kitchen, already dressed, with a purple bottle.

"It's not." Eric replied, snatching the bottle out of Alan's hand.

"Then... why does it say 'pour les femmes'?"

"Don't smirk at me, it works, OK?" Alan giggled. "Stop laughing."

"This explains why your hair always smells like lavender. Say, do you have a shopping list?" Eric pointed to a piece of paper tacked to the fridge with a magnet, looking rather flustered by the discovery of his hair products. Alan took a pen off the counter and wrote something on the list. "Toast! Excellent." He said, walking over to the toaster. Eric peered at the list.

"What'd you...'Man-shampoo'?" He turned to glare at his lover. "You arse."

"I'm not the one with 'soyeux', 'lavande' hair." Alan smirked.

**~ALAN~**

"I'm going to go take a shower. You mock too much." Eric grumbled at him, leaving, and taking that hilarious bottle of shampoo with him. Alan was certain his hair had never smelled girlier-but then, no one ever seemed to bother Eric about it.

When they finally got to work-after much whining from Eric, who, though he acknowledged it as important, never seemed to actually have any drive to go. God knew how he'd ever managed to get up and into work before he met Alan.

"Good morning-you smell like flowers, Alan. New perfume?" Grell asked as the two of them passed his desk. Eric snickered, the hypocrite.

"How come you're not bothering Eric about it? It's _his_ shampoo."

"I know, I've been smelling it on him for years. I don't bother him for two reasons: One," the redhead ticked off a finger, "He'd murder me. Two, making fun of you for being feminine works. It just _doesn't_ for Eric. If we got the man a set of falsies, no one would believe he was a woman."

"Thank you, Grell." Eric took a small bow and sat at his desk.

"That said, simply owning the shampoo, let alone using it, makes him gayer than a fruitcake, but..." Grell trailed off, grinning. Eric threw a pencil at him.

"Somehow, the source discredits the words. Remember reason number one." The blonde raised an eyebrow. "Do you know how much it _hurts_ to get hit with a saw? Didn't think so. Do you want to find out?"

"I already know what garden shears feel like, Will saw to that, so I'm not terribly bothered. So Alan, do you feel _pretty_ now that you're wearing that?"

"Grell, you'd use it in a heartbeat if-" Eric started.

"Yes, but people expect it from me. It's funnier on you two."

"It's French. And it's for women." Alan said, restraining a smile and opening a drawer of his desk to get a pen. Grell's mouth dropped open. He closed it quickly, his face morphing into a wicked grin.

"Ooh, Eric. I have been, and was going to, leave you alone about this one, especially having listed reasons why, but now I simply can't." Grell's smile grew. "Women's shampoo, really? I always though Alan was the femme, but..." He ducked another pencil from Eric.

"Alan, you little sellout."

"I couldn't pass it up, sorry."

"You shave your legs, too?" The redhead giggled. "Wear dresses when we're not around?" Eric glared at him, then at Alan.

"If we're talking dresses, I think Alan takes the cake." He said, carefully watching his partner's face. "There was that brown one-lovely, by the way-and then there was-"

"-don't you dare, Eric-" Alan cut in. He knew where this was going, and he had no desire to let Grell know about...

"-that maid's outfit he wore for me once." Grell let out a snort of laughter. Alan could feel his face turning red.

"Eric, I'm going to, to..."

"Stutter at me?" Eric smirked. "Payback's a bitch, sweetheart." Lost for words, Alan resorted to throwing a pen at Eric. "Excellent, this'll replace one of the ones I threw at him." Eric said, catching it and jerking his thumb towards Grell. "You throw like a girl, too." He was slightly less successful at catching the book Alan threw next. "Ow!"

"Have some respect for literature, Alan~" Grell looked extremely gleeful at all the fortune he'd been having with discovering things to tease them about later.

"Respect for literature, my ass, how about some respect for my face?" Eric said, retrieving the book from where it had fallen and slapping it down on his desk. "That hurt. You could at least have picked a smaller book."

"At least it was a paperback, Eric. Count your blessings." Alan said dangerously, tapping with one finger a hardbound book that sat on his desk. "Imagine how much this would have hurt." Eric made a choked sound of surprise.

"Oh, you two never get boring-maid's dresses, women's shampoo, and they say _I'm_ gay..." Grell cackled, ducking to avoid the objects that were flung at him.

"Why're we throwing things at Miss Grell?" Ron asked, stepping into the room. "Can I join?"

"Only if you're as camp as these tw-ouch!" The pen Alan had previously thrown found its mark, hitting Grell's neck.

"Oh, please. If anyone's camp it's _you_." Eric rolled his eyes.

"It's different for _me_! I'm a _woman_!" Grell protested.

"And pigs fly out of Will's a-" It was Grell's turn to throw something, but Eric deflected the ball of paper with a hand.

"Ladies, ladies, relax, for what it's worth, you're _all_ very pretty." Ron retreated under his desk, laughing, under the hailstorm of office supplies that were launched at him.


End file.
